


This Love is Agony

by Messier_47



Series: langst [3]
Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt No Comfort, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Sad Lance (Voltron), langest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:53:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9792854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messier_47/pseuds/Messier_47
Summary: Lance is in love.





	

He loves like God loves. He loves like the thirteenth Corinthians, Shakespeares sonnet number forty, and like the sun. Always, forever, and bright.

 

His love is the first flower in spring that turns it’s head to the dawn. Like the wind pressing kisses upon the mountain tops and dances with the pine tree. His love is like water, like waterfalls, like gushing rivers that has no end. A gentle stream perhaps that twines around the mountain like a hug and trickles down with murmers of his love. He loves like the ocean waves that never decease, it comes back to grab what it can at the steady pulse of a heartbeat.

 

He overflows with it. 

 

He loves like the arms of the universe stretching wide. Like infinety might have an end but he’ll still love anyway. He loves like stars bursting to life and never dying. He loves like that stars that gain a pulse and grow so heavy space can barely take the weight. He loves like gravity screaming of his heavy burden and he pushes back, pushes back, pushes back (he would continue to carry the world on his shoulders for the sake of his love).

 

He loves as a man should love. Completely. This love is not childish, no simple thing can explain this deep affection. What is a crush compared to this heart rendering need to dig out apart of yourself to fit them inside? What is infatuation compared to this willingness to posturate himself before Fate and all her kin and scream out, “You may take my blood, my gold, my life but my heart, my soul, my love cannot be yours.”

 

He loves like death is no boundary. He loves like this was his divine right. Every morning he chokes back his tears and he thinks, “Oh, how I missed you. I dreamed of you but I missed you still.”

 

He found his soulmate, his better half, his heart, and he loves with all that he is but it’s just not enough.

 

For his love doesn’t look at him twice. His love can’t see it. The stars in his eyes are only reflections of the windows. His affections taken as some joke, some flirt, some stupid thing. His love is disregarded because, “Lance, you don’t flirt seriously so you can’t be taken seriously.”

 

This love is agony.

 

His love is a cruzafiction. “Tie my hands, my wrists, flay my back and let blood drip -drip- drip. Anything but this invalidation of my soul!” he says.

 

He is Atlas holding the burden of his love upon his shoulders and there is no respite in sight. It’s so heavy. His lungs strain. His love is so heavy. He can’t breathe.

 

He watches his love leave him behind and he doesn’t have enough heart to hate for that. He watches his love love another and he still can’t find hatred for that. He watches their love, together, and his love still loves with a love that must be true love. Must be God love. Must be a love God can relate to.

 

And here he is feeling so cold because he gave and he gave and he gave and what did he have left but his skin? And he is glad about it.

 

“I’m happy,” he says to no one. “I loved with all I had there is nothing greater than this.”

 

His smiles don’t faulter when they kiss. His laughs don’t stutter when they whisper their love. He talks without spitting blood when they ask for his blessing. He does as he always does because- 

“Lance, you don’t flirt seriously so you can’t be taken seriously.”

 

So he buries his love on the dark side of the moon. Hurtles his secrets into the hearts of black holes. He takes his poems, his flowers, his love songs and cremates them. His heart, carved ever so lovingly out of his chest, ready to be presented as a gift, an offering, a sacrafice, he leaves on the alter of his love’s temple because they still desserve it. Because he can’t imagine being with it anymore. Because his heart doesn’t want to come back.

 

Without his heart he gets reckless. Without his heart he can’t want to be alive anymore. He goes to sleep on broken bones and thinks, “I’ve had worse.” He’s stained red with his blood and thinks, “I’ve had worse.” Bruises grow on the expanse of his ribs and he thinks, “I’ve had worse.” He can’t breathe. “I’ve had worse.” He can’t, he can’t, he can’t-”I’ve had worse.”

 

“Lance! Take your life seriously and stop running into these situations! You almost got yourself killed! Do you want to die?”

 

He smiles at his love and says, “To die is better than to be without your love, my dearest.”

 

A disbelieving scoff. A disapproving stare. Eyes turned away from Lance without really turning away. Those eyes may see him but they can’t really.

 

“Lance, you don’t flirt seriously so you can’t be taken seriously.”

  
“Don’t worry,” he says to no one who believes him, “I’ve had worse.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be vague. Who do you think he loves? That's who he loves.


End file.
